THE LIES THAT BIND

A YYH inspired fanfiction done for purposes of entertainment and wasting away time. Standard Disclaimers Apply.

CHAPTER 1- PORTENTS

Watching someone without having them actually notice that they are being watched is a craft he has long perfected. It suits him well for the puproses of surveying an enemy or studying an opponent's stance when he tries to read their intents, motives or next move. The deity of death in her soft pink kimono eating ice cream across him didn't exactly post a grave threat on his safety or well-being. But he watched her anyway, accepting that he is pleased in simply doing so. His earlier worries and fears long buried into forgetfulness.

"You think I don't know you are watching me. But I do," Botan said, her eyes kept low on the ice cream dish before her. His eyes crinkled in bemusement, not knowing how to comment on that. Quite taken aback by her keen sense. "You eat ice cream... differently," he replied, his grin widened, thinking how Botan would react if he told her he was watching her because he's keeping watch of her beautiful smile. Beautiful, his eyes fondly rested on her shrugging gesture. "Differently?" she asked. He cleared his throat, his own ice cream dish forgotten, "you... chew ice cream." She pouted despite the blush that crept up her cheeks. Something lurched in his veins.

"I don't chew, ice cream. I just," she paused, scooping a small serving into her mouth as if to demonstrate, "try to feel it all over my tongue." He cocked an eyebrow, "Naze?" quite surprised at her reply. It felt like an eternity before she made any movement and almost forever before she uttered a reply. Her eyes immeresed on the tabletop, having a hard time to meet his inquiring gaze. "I... I want to taste it," she said softly. He felt his jaw stiffen, understanding what answer he just extracted from her. Because she can't, he supplied mentally. He was to apologize when she met his eyes with startling emotion, "will you tell me how it tastes like?" she asked hopefully. "Like ice cream," he answered. She regarded him with mock impatience, "no. I meant, what does it taste like. To you," she insisted. He was to open his mouth to ask why what he thinks matters.

He smiled instead, the lurch in his veins were becoming more frequent and intense. Almost feverish. So long since he last felt like this. Or maybe he's never felt like this. But happiness seemed to well from nowhere... from her. No matter how fleeting, how shallow... the simplicity of the circumstances they found themselves in has made him happy and protected him of the fears he's so used to battling for the past few days. "Its coldness briefly sheathes the tongue numb. Briefly as it melts, to allow the sweetness becomes one with your mouth. Then the what is left of the soothing coolness courses down your throat as you swallow," he shook his head, his smile evident, "that'd probably go down as the lamest..." he paused at the smile fixed in her lips. "Duomo, Kurama-san. That was beautiful," she spooned another serving into her mouth and closed her eyes, "I could almost taste it." Almost, she kept the sound of his voice as he described how ice cream tastes like in her memory. Something she would remember when she eats ice cream again. And when she... she blushed again, remembering her recurring dreams of Kurama - both as Youko and ningen.

An elder man whose weight was supported by a cane as he walked went past them and caught Botan's awareness and her eyes immediately flew open. She wondered if that was a reminder from Koenma of things left undone. Just a little longer, she pleaded, not wanting to go on about the normal routine her day usually takes. Another soul to guide, another life to be lost. She is well aware of the consequences of not escorting a soul out of the dying body. The soul's immediate decay in the body, emitting a stench for all of Reikai to be aware of. And the pain... the excruciating pain the soul, the being, feels at being completely aware of its own degeneracy will be shared by the deity who selfishly deprived him or her of being freed from the body whose time has ran out.A curse, that sadly, comes with immortality.

Kurama noticed the change in her equilibrium. Her weak hold of the spoon, her absent gaze into space. Something is troubling her and he consciously wondered if he did anything to upset her. He waited patiently for her to confide on him, but she too seemed patient to wait out the uncomfortable silence. "Why are you here Botan?" he asked quietly, "I mean, did you just come here to wake me up?" She took particular interest in the intricate design of the placemat under the dish. She traced the intricacy of the lace patterns with her finger. I would, she answered quietly, if that's what it takes. But that wouldn't be the answer either of them would be looking for, that she knew. She cleared her throat, "I-I'm here to collect a soul," she answered, her voice wavering without her intent. She realized she couldn't meet his eyes and stood firm in the belief that she wouldn't.

Gentle fingers, however, seemed to have other things in mind as it lifted her gaze to meet his own. She would've blushed a third time if not for the sudden surge of memories yearning to be released from bondage. She took a sharp intake of breath as she felt herself being sucked in a vortex. Memories of trees, darkness, the biting cold... Makai. Mind-shattering pain followed, to which she could only whimper weakly. The pain became more intense, first in her mind, then it made itself apparent all over her. Threatening to consume her altogether. Her resolve to temper her convulsions broke, together with the contact of his fingers to her chin. Then strangely, calm soon followed. Not in a way where the pain eased from her senses, but was snatched away fom her as if it didn't even happen at all. She slumped on her seat, weakened by the mind-alterring reality she was sucked into.

Kurama looked at her in dazed shock borne from her pained reaction to his touch.What is going on? he thought not realizing he actually spoke the very question. Botan raised her eyes to his and forced a smile, "I think I have lactose intolerance," she joked. He didn't smile. She cast a wayward glance at the clock. She was still a good three hours away before the deadline set by Koenma. Before the soul of Ranumura Ichiko decays in his body. She was almost sure it was the pain transcended to her by a degenerating soul trapped in its ningen form but... "Botan, daijobu ka?" he asked, his concern too transparent to be misinterpreted. She grinned and answered a fraction of a second too quick, "Hai." Still no smile from him. She reached out across the table and covered his hand with hers, "hai," she said more slowly, "duomo arigatou for the ice cream, Shuuichi," her brain pulsed in warning. He watched her slowly withdraw her hands from his own in quiet fear and started to get up.

"Matte," he muttered just before she went past him.Not wanting the calm, the solitude her presence offers... and the happiness her nearness brings to be pried from him. Not just yet. It's too presumptive, expectant, you're risking your pride, her offered friendship, his mind screamed. He deftly ignored his protesting logic and the niggling resurface of his selfish self. He stood behind her, a mass of contradictions. She stopped, but not turning back. "I'm going with you," he said, already standing behind her.

She felt every thought come to a halt just by those simple words. Breathe, she told herself. "No," she said quietly. Botan was almost certain that it was just a polite gesture, a friendly habit fostered by the ningen. That he would soon smile and leave her be. Leave her with her job and the monstrosity of its nature. "I'm going with you." Whereas before he was asking her if he could, the words now rang of stern determination. He was telling her he's coming along, no longer seeking her approval. Botan's lips trembled, in quiet fear. He was asking her to admit him into her own private hell. Somewhere no one foolish, insane or stupid enough willingly bludgeoned into before. Or sweet and genuinely kind, she added. He was asking her to share her tears, her burdens with him. He was asking her to bare her bruised and injured soul to him. He was asking too much. She looked up to him, through him and found how easy it was. How easy it was to lose herself, to fall and surrender to his hands. And before she could take a step back, before she could construct a single train of thought, before logic took over... she did.

She turned and started to walk to the door, a silent acquiescence to his will. He followed in silence.

Silence... the harmony escorting them out. Flirting in anticipation with what their decision holds for them. A resounding tune against the ears of a silent beholder looking through hatred-stained eyes. So stained that she has gone blind. She watched the blue-haired woman in mild fascination and extreme amazement over the power she wielded over the kitsune. Her delicate jaw stiffened as her steel-gray eyes settled on the akage. He has turned out to become a beautiful ningen. Beautiful... but not quite my kitsune, she thought wistfully watching him trail the woman. Her kitsune wouldn't want to be led, wouldn't allow a woman to speak to him as if his equal, wouldn't do away with this waltz just to get what he wanted... her lips curved to a smile. But he will be, she thought in confidence.

Allowing ample time for them to gain distance but not too far so as to have them lost by her sight, she waited before crushing the cigarette against the ash tray. She got up slowly, from where she sat and walked to the door. Not at the least bit worried of losing them. She knew exactly where they're heading. Male heads followed the dark-haired woman on her parade to exit. A mild scent of incense wafted to where she passed. She knew it. She felt it. She smiled inwardly, bemused at how men turn putty just at the sight of a young and beautiful woman. She loved this power. This control she has. But not as much as when she had a certain silver youko at her palm.

Not as much when she will have that silver youko at her beck and call.

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Her arms were wrapped around the book he gave her. Clinging to what she felt was her last vestige of reality.It all felt like a psychedelic dream.They were walking in the hushed symphony of feet shuffling against concrete, the whispers of the people passing them by and the silence she chose to place between them. Every step, Botan knew and felt the chasm they were building between them and the fortresses they were taking down... it terrfied her. This was more than she expected from the day, more than what she wanted, more than what she asked for. It was creating a terrifying space in her stomach that threatened to engulf her whole. Her lip trembled, I shouldn't have stopped, she thought in a regretful rhyme that wasn't really there.

They turned to an alley. The glorious caress of the sun against her cheek, momentarily stolen by metal bars that figured to fire escapes and ladders. That and the chaotic slants of clotheslines drooping slightly at the weight of the wet clothes seeking relief by stealing whatever sunlight the dreary place allowed. It was crowded and stenched of misery, defeat and lost hopes. She berated herself for not having the spine to contradict his firm intents. She stole a furtive glance to him, his eyes a bit wary and extremely suspicious of the place. So beautiful, she thought in awe, he doesn't belong here. She felt the raucuous populace hush at their passing and eye them with equal suspicion and anxiety. A woman breast-feeding, instinctively snuggled the child closer to her bossom. Primal protection, she thought. The mother could feel who she is and what she carries within her sleeves. Whether unconsciously or not, the mild anger in her eyes told her so. Botan kept her eyes on them as she walked on, smiling slightly at them. Assuring, it wasn't her child that she came for. The child cried in response.

"Is this what happened to Yuusuke when he first died?" Kurama asked, halting the depressing course her thoughts were taking, seeking purchase of her attention. Botan ahook her head, "no. His death was abrupt and untimely and thus I only needed to collect his spirit and lead him to Reikai," she explained, every word a dagger against her mouth. She hated discussing her job, trivializing death's logic and premises. "So, the spirit you are collecting now is..." he stopped at the halting of her feet. She faced him with the saddest eyes, the very eyes that showed him what infinite happiness looked like, "still alive," she finished, "we're here." They stood before a once white tattered door. Paint peeled off from everywhere and various vandals adorned what white space was left. A door that has seen one too many storms, admitted too much unnecessary sorrows for the owner and saw the departure of too many happiness. She closed her eyes, the room inside would be dark, silent, pregnant with possibilities... the child in her trembled at what she might see inside; the deity wanted to get this done and over with.

"Hey," whistled a crass voice, breath reeking with the smell of cheap alcohol discernable even at their considerable distance, "you beautiful ladies have no place in old Ichiko's house," Botan saw him smile and reveal teeth and the lack of them. Her stomach churned. She wouldv'e laughed at Kurama for being mistaken for a woman, but the stealthy gleam in his eyes and the circumstances they were in forbade her of any humor. Kurama opened the wrought door for her, the sound of a wind chime clinking to life. She looked up at the broken porcelain of what resembles a beak-less parrot. It had seen better days, whispered more joyous clinks. She entered quietly. "I have a bigger house that will suit the three of us better y'know," the drunk called out. Kurama paused and smoothed a wrinkle on his sleeve before going inside. Not caring to regard the miser.

Botan felt the cold concrete wall against her palm, feeling for the light switch. With a faint click, a bulb sputtered, blinked profusely to the room before flooding it with what scarce light it could spit out. She smiled wistfully at the doormat with the words "Irrashaimase" etched. Barely visible against the settled dust and dirt. The walls were empty, but weren't always so. Tape remnants and screw holes attested to that. The low tables were littered with strewn newspapers, cartons of takeouts uncared for and bills. Lots of them. No windows. No life. Death stenched from all over. That and the unmistakeable scent of a glorious past that downslided to what it was now. She's smelled that scent, seen too many flickering light bulbs in her cursed lifetime. "What took you so long?" coughed a weak voice. So weak she couldn't say if it belonged to a man or a woman. She turned and saw the crumpled form against the corner, Kurama kneeling by his side. His. A man. Or was once a man.

She walked to him slowly, measuring his features against the awful light provided by the bulb. Botan has seen corpses in her lifetime, but never felt the heart tugging sympathy she felt towards this one. His features went ahead and died on its own voltion. Had grown impatient perhaps out of waiting for her. Eyes sunk against their sockets, skin pasty white hanging loosely on the too evident for comfort bone-structure... she knelt in front of the man and deftly touched a fleshless cheek. He flinched visibly, eyes glowering on her. Blue, she thought, his eyes are blue. Or were. Blue eyes, that bore witness to too much cruelty, too much pain... they appeared black at first glance. Indelible intelligence seemed to be burned into those bottomless pools. She pulled back her hand at his evident disapproval of her mindless touch, "what took you so long?" he asked again. Voice saturated with bitterness and anger. Anger towards her? No. Anger towards a world that has swallowed him whole, chewed on him, absorbed his very soul before spitting him to decay with all the others.

"You know who she is?" Kurama asked, his voice clear against her ear despite her raging confusion. The old man strayed his eyes from the woman and stared levelly into Kurama's green gaze. His cracked lips widened to a smile, "do you?" Kurama blinked at the question aimed at him. Ichiko is dying, should be in a state of perpetual delirium... but the clarity, the wisdom in those eyes told him otherwise. Told him, his cunning has no place in the old man's domain. He found himself as a welcome prisoner to the dying's delusions. Do I? he asked, containing his desire to raise his eyes to hers and find the answer himself. Botan bowed before the man, "Ichiko-san, I am Botan..." she began. "And you will be my escort to my travel in Reikai.. yeah, yeah, I know... I've heard that crap before now get it over with," he finished in impatience, his hands waving as if dismissing her. Botan was dumbfounded, "y-you've heard of... who are you?" she asked, eyes narrowed against the frail form that housed a sharp tongue and a swift mind.

"Why do you keep asking me what I know? Do you think it matters? To any of you?" he asked, again turning the tables. Word play, Kurama identified in bemusement. Ichiko snapped his eyes back to him, "and what is it that you find amusing, kitsune?" he asked slyly. That froze both of them. Ichiko leaned back his head against the wall, sighing at the comfort offered by the biting cold. He hugged the ragged blanket that rested on his lap around his shoulders, as if a shield to their questioning gazes. Unvoiced questions. Suspicious looks. "Don't look so surprised. You are a kitsune, ne?" Ichiko asked, mildly irritated. And before Kurama could open his mouth, Ichiko beat him again to it. "You will ask me how, when I am a ningen. A dying ningen even," he laughed that ended up in a coughing fit. Kurama kept a suspicious eye on the old man, now wary at why and how he came to know such things, "does this happen to all dying ningen?" he asked Botan. She shook her head, her eyes transfixed as well on the frail man, "no. Ichiko-san, why... who...," that earned her another ring of laughter.

"Kami-sama! I never thought dying would be this entertaining," he cried out, moisture gathering in his eyes. They waited for the peals of laughter to die down. Ichiko smiled, "I had a wife, you know," he began, "you took her from me... or maybe not you. The other one with the red kimono. Whatever, she took her from me four years after our marriage." Babbling, Kurama thought. Ichiko shook his head, as if disagreeing with his thoughts, "I never understood why it took you so long to claim me as well. I knew life ended when you pried her away from my arms." Botan bowed her head, suddenly ashamed of what she came here for, "Gomen nasai, Ichiko-san." He nodded then shrugged. Botan felt the earliest signs of a tear escaping her eyes, but probing blue-black eyes matched her own purple ones. Bruised windows to his soul. Ichiko raised a crooked finger to her cheek and traced its delicate curve, "Do you?" he asked, his voice a whisper. Botan blinked at the question and Ichiko glanced back at Kurama, who still watched him under wary eyes, "do you know who you are?"

A dagger through her heart would've been more expected. More welcome. Sweeter even, than his question. A question that prowled a time too long in her mind. Those eyes, she thought, quivering at the discovery, looking through me. "N-nani?" she mumbled. "You bring souls to Reikai. You help the Reikai Tantei in keeping harmony between worlds... but beyond that, who are you Botan? Can you answer that?" he asked. Kurama found himself being sucked deeper into confusion. The room felt increasingly threatening, the man before him no longer the man who greeted him at the first blessing of the light bulb. He knows who he was, the existence of the Tantei, Botan's identity... he glanced at the blue-haired woman in front of her, or the lack of it, he thought. The tear that Ichiko's laughter hindered earlier, flowed freely from her eyes to the back of his twig-like hand, "No," she uttered, "do you?" she asked, a desperate plea to see what she's been searching for in the sand, in the crashing waves... in the lonely moon.

Ichiko smiled, "ah, but how would I know? I am no more than a dying ningen you've come to pick up and escort to Reikai," he brought her hand up against his lips, his eyes closed. "I wish you came last night. I was outside, looking at the generous sprinkle of stars in the night sky," he said, "I always thought I'd die at night. Under the stars, the cold wind embracing me, flowing through me... not here," he sighed, "but I guess I have to make-do." Botan shot a confused look at Kurama, suddenly appreciative that he came. She felt she'd be insane if she was left alone with this man. He tipped his head to regard the other ningen, "you wonder who I am, you try to remember if we've met in your past existence, " his eyes twinkled beneath heavy lids, the dead youth in him smiled impishly. Botan clasped his hand against hers, and started to bring out the soul she came here for while Kurama looked on, in quiet amazement at him... at her. She kept her eyes shut. Much too weak to perform and watch the ordeal at the same time.

"Don't hurt her again," the old man muttered.

Again? Kurama thought, the old man was slowly falling to the call of death's slumber. "Matte, Botan," he muttered, wanting to hear what the man was rambling about. His request went heard only by the dead air around them. He watched the chapped lips form words, incoherent as it was reduced to mere whispers, then slowly to mere movements. He leaned towards the man's lips, trying desperately to know, to hear... perhaps in silent wish that this may stop the nightmares. "...don't... near... strong....ro," the last syllable was more of a rumble in the old man's throat before he succumbed to Botan's call.

With relative ease he carried the old man out of the house, walking past the now disemboweled body of the drunkard. An innocent ivy plant lay just beside his outstretched hand.

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Koenma walked briskier than his normally leisured pace. His feet pounded on the marble floor in a rhythmless pattern. An unmistakeable gleam in his eyes led the onis to part and give way to him.

Not Jorju Saotome- the blue oni who presently hid behind the stack of papers he carried on his arms. Preventing him to see, to do anything despite the warning cries of those who have parted and given way. "Gyaah!" Koenma exclaimed, a flurry of documents and pages danced around him and the fallen oni who was on all fours. Blinks. Pauses. Their spectators scurried away, not wanting to be there and share the wrath of the bratty...

"Jorju, you idiot!" Koenma snapped, getting back on his feet, his cape making the motion appear clumsy as the material wound itself on his left leg. But the oni was in a dimension where Koenma's seething anger couldn't reach him. It was only him, the graceful dance of the unsigned documents on air... and the unavoidable fact that he will have to resort the papers. Again. All three thousand or so pages of them. Koenma brushed himself clean, bringing himself back to any semblance of formality and the true prince he was. He babbled on responsibility and focus and... he gave up at the evidently spaced out oni who still hasn't picked himself up. Koenma sighed, the stress of the matters at hand... he looked around frantically for the papers he was holding before the entire mishap.

"Great! Now I've lost the frigging papers! This is all your fault, Saotome!" Koenma seethed as he joined Jorju again on the floor, scanning one fallen paper after another, only to throw them back to disorder. "Not only do I have to face that witch, I now have to face her without anything but words of retort, unsupported blathers and..." Koenma stopped at the sound of a page being turned. The once hapless oni was now cross-legged on the floor, reading glasses in place and thoroughly immersed with the document Koenma's been groveling for. He immediately snatched it from Jorju's grasps and straightened back on his way.

"Ranumura Ichiko?" Jorju called out in question. Koenma paused on his tracks, wondering how far Jorju went. If Jorju read so much..., the Reikai prince's growing concern over the entire matter too pressing to be ignored. Saotome may act goofily at times, but it will only take him several keywords form the document to figure out what's going on. He started on his way again.Koenma smoothed his chin in absent thought and wondered if he should talk to Genkai about this. No. It's too early to speculate, he took a calming breath, you're worrying about nothing, Koenma. It's just a minor glitch. You just have to keep the hag out of the way. He paused as the hall split into two. One led to his father's quarters, the other...

"Witch?" the suspicion in Jorju's voice too obvious for him not to notice. The normally crouched oni walked to him and peered over the tall man's shoulder. "Your father forbids anyone to cross this path," one blue eyebrow went raised on him, "what's going on Koenma-sama?" Koenma ignored the oni a second time and scuffled his way to the "forbidden path" only to be stopped a third time when Jorju stood in front of him, arms outstretched and grim determination stamped on his features. Koenma gave out an exasperated sigh. "You better start giving me answers Koenma-sama. I saw Kurama and Botan's name in those documents," Koenma's heart skip an erratic beat, "now I won't stop asking these one-line quesitons unless you start coughing out answers!" the oni exclaimed in passion. Jorju saw the warning lift of Koenma's eyebrows and added in a less agitated manner, "please?"

Koenma brushed past him. "Out of the way Jorju. These matters are not to be discussed by anyone but me and..." Jorju kept pace, "but Koenma-sama, I'm worried about Botan-chan. Those words in the documents weren't exactly very enticing. If anything, the document scared me off my pants!" Koenma paused in front of a heavy set door. "Well. except that I don't wear pants, but had I have pants on I mean..." Koenma felt the warning signs of a vein popping, "Jorju, go back and sort those papers! I need them in my desk before the day ends," he barked, opening the door slightly, intending to leave the oni behind. "De-demo..." he stuttered. The turbulent gleam in Koenma's eyes told Jorju that patience has already snapped. "That's it! I've had enough of this. Go back there and clean up that mess you made and have the papers ready for..."

"If there's anyone who's had enough of this it is me, Koenma." came a stern female voice from the dark room. Koenma paused and bit his lower lip. A habit he acquired whenever he heard that voice grow displeased."Now, did you just come here to show me how you've grown to become a perfect brat like your father or are we going to talk about that ferrygirl of yours?" she asked in impatience. Koenma answered with silence while trying to shove a very defiant Jorju on his way. "Well?" the woman asked, evidently displeased at the ill-concealed ruckus, "you might as well invite that oni of yours. It's not like you have any choice," she said wryly. Koenma gritted his teeth, his hand balled to a fist on either side. He turned to Jorju, "this is all your fault," he hissed. Jorju wide-eyed, not out of dread over the displeased prince but curious at the voice's owner. "When you're in there, don't speak. Don't move. Don't think," each word punctuated by a glare more menacing than the one before, "don't even breathe." In complete reluctance, Koenma took a deep breath and went inside, Jorju in tow.

The room was lit eerily with candles and smelled of flowers... being cooked. A shadow of a woman sat on one corner of a room in front of what appears to be a weaving machine. "Lights. Door. Top." the woman ordered. Koenma obeyed and switched on the lights. The room when flooded with light was quite larger than what Jorju anticipated from the dark. And indeed, there were shredded flowers boiling on small vases all over the room. The woman who had their back on them had no dresser. In its place was a tall shelf of books. In a quick assessment of the room, Jorju disclosed that it bore no indication that it belonged to a woman. Vanity seemed to have been dispalced somewhere. "It is impolite to stare at a woman's room you know, young man," the woman said, her voice smiling. "Young man? Jorju's two thousand and fifty years old! He's as old as you!" Koenma exclaimed at the outrageous statement. "Exactly," the woman said simply, the smile now evident in her painted lips as she stood and faced them.

She cocked a delicate eyebrow, "well?" she asked, arms crossed in anticipation of what either of her visitors would say. Jorju's interests fled from the steaming vases and settled on the woman standing before them. She stood a good foot taller than the form Koenma has taken now. Hazel eyes that matched the color of the lush waterfall of hair that fell in the red silk of her gown met his gaze unflinchingly. She looked slightly aged but her ethereal features prevents any man of any other thought than her beauty. Including how old she is. "Koenma, be the cultured man you were intended and introduce this friend of yours properly," she reprimanded. Koenma rolled his eyes, "father will kill me for this." Jorju's eyes lightened, "oh, she's your father's girlfriend!" The woman would've sweatdropped at that, but she's far too regal to do such act.

"Baka! She's my mother you idiot!" Koenma exclaimed, giving Jorju a good whack on the back. That was enough to make the bulky oni fall to the floor in a frozen stance. Emu-Daioh sighed, "I hope that wasn't the only reason you came here," she said pointedly as she resumed her attention to the weaving machine. Koenma was immediately reminded of the papers he was gripping on his fist. He walked over to her and tossed the papers on her lap, "this is not funny, mother." A melodic laugh, "who said I was giving an effort? Things are not going well Koenma." He glared at her, "you don't need to tell me that!" She smiled at how her son managed to grow some spine under the tutellage of his stubborn father. Too bad both his and his father's spine tend to bend in her presence. Had she raised him herself, she would probably be blasting the room away against him. She entertained the thought for a while and found it... cute.

"Do you know about the woman?" she asked, reorienting herself so as to let the wad of papers fall on the floor. Koenma sighed in resignation and flopped down on the bed, "yes. And I know she'll probably get here with tons of question to boot for me." Emu smiled, "yes, she will ask you and you will tell her," a well sculpted nail tapped against her chin in thought, "well... it's much more probable that you'll lie to her but then," she paused, then added with a whisper, "I am not talking about your ferrygirl."

Koenma, who has surrendered his aching back to the soft welcome of the mattress smoothed his forehead, "well, I can't tell her everything! If I do then all things that..." he shot up with the realization, eyes narrowed, trying to hide the alarm ringing in his head, "what do you mean you're not talking about Botan?" With the question out, answers are inevitable... and Koenma wasn't sure if its answers he wants. The warning sounds in his head grew several decibels louder. Something's wrong.

"Silly child," she said with a short giggle, "you and your father make a lousy team running this household." Koenma rolled his eyes, "mother, you're a witch. What makes you an expert in household matters save for cooking the flowers in the backyard?" he reminded wryly. "Sou da ne?" she asked, the confidence in her voice unmistakeable as she stood and walked to a blank wall. She raised a finger against it and poked it briefly, sending ripples on the wall as though liquid. "You and your father practically grovel everyday just to run the entirety of Reikai. You really had some nerve to add this unnecessary twist in your concerns," she said pointedly, stepping aside to reveal what the wall showed: a pretty ningen, eyes the color of a ravaging storm and ebon tresses framing an exquisitely delicate face. What cold pit began in Koenma's stomach spread all over and engulfed him to a frozen statue. And he was afraid to ask, but...

"You weren't careful Koenma," Emu pointed out, her gentle voice in stark contrast with the grim smile on her lips.

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